


pieces

by soldierly



Category: Captain America (2011), Kings
Genre: Crossover, M/M, Prostitution
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-21
Updated: 2011-12-21
Packaged: 2017-10-27 15:54:44
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 779
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/297539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soldierly/pseuds/soldierly
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jack keeps everyone at arm's length after Joseph, but that doesn't stop him from wanting.</p>
            </blockquote>





	pieces

"How much?" Jack says, low and rough and close to the guy, taut with tension. He breaks off to look over his shoulder, to scan the street. He hates this, _fuck_ , he hates this so goddamn much, hiding, but he won't let someone else be another Joseph. "For an hour?"

The guy tilts his head; he has blue eyes, bright and appraising and soft, his cheekbones strong-cut and his jawline firm. He's huge, has half a foot on Jack at least, and his shoulders are strong and broad. Jack would wonder where he came from, why he's here, but Jack doesn't let himself wonder anymore, doesn't let himself get _involved_ anymore. "Maybe you should go home," he says, and Jack's eyes narrow. "I mean," he adds, voice gentling, "you don't look so good. I don't think this is what you're looking for."

"No, it is," Jack snaps. "I can pay you or I can pay someone else, your choice."

There's a long pause and then, "All right. It's a hundred."

"Fine." Jack shoves his hands in his pockets, fishing for his wallet, but the guy touches his arm and says, "Come on, I've got a place."

He leads Jack along, down a darkened street to a house in the curl of a cul-de-sac, a tiny one-story thing that looks like it could use a paintjob and a couple days' worth of patchwork. Jack's watching him, on guard now; usually they want to be paid first, and most of them rattle off an "I don't do" list and a policy about one-offs. This one is weird, but it's not like Jack has a lot to lose if he turns out to be some psycho-killer, so when the guy unlocks the door and ushers him inside, he goes.

"My name's Steve," Steve offers from behind him. He flicks the lights on; the place is as small inside as it looks from the outside, littered with rickety furniture. It's clean, though, and warm.

"Jack," he responds without thinking. He should've given a fake name, he really should have, but it's not like Steve won't have recognized him by now. "Bedroom?"

Something flickers in Steve's eyes, and he nods, gesturing toward a hallway branching off the main room. Jack traipses down the hallway until Steve says, "To your right." The bedroom matches the rest of the house: cramped, but homey. Jack takes it in, is on the edge of asking how long Steve has been doing this, if he's even actually a prostitute.

Steve steps inside and closes the door, hovers there, watching Jack with those eyes. "Stop looking at me like that," Jack says, snarling more than he meant. Steve blinks at him.

"Like what?"

"Like that." Jack shucks his jacket and reaches for his belt, unbuckling it and pushing his jeans down. "Top or bottom?"

"Either," Steve responds easily. He seems like the kind of guy to roll with punches.

"Fine." Jack kicks his pants off, slides his hand into the pocket and pulls out the condom he brought, the one-use tube of slick. He passes them both over to Steve, expecting him to get the hint. Steve nods, starts stripping off his clothes. Jack tips back to sprawl on the bed when he's naked, goosebumps prickling up his legs. Steve levers one knee up onto the mattress between Jack's feet, runs a warm hand up his calf.

"Sorry," he murmurs. "Heat's been off."

"It's fine, go on," Jack pushes, done with the intimacy. Steve frowns at him, but Jack tips his head up, eyes closing, ignoring Steve's undoubted scrutiny. He hears the rip of the condom foil, and then Steve's hand is on his thigh, urging him to spread his legs. He does, and arches his back when Steve presses a finger into him. The first stretch is always a reminder of how long he goes between letting himself have this. "Don't baby me." He rocks his hips to punctuate his point, and Steve only hesitates for a few seconds before adding another finger, then a third, working him open.

After that it's exactly what Jack needs: Steve presses into him, wraps a hand around his cock, jacks him off and thrusts into him exactly the way Jack tells him to. He doesn't last long, and he very carefully thinks of nothing when he comes. Steve doesn't, but that's not Jack's job, and that's not his problem to care about. He slides away, still weak-kneed from his orgasm, and finds his wallet, shoves two hundreds at Steve.

"Ah," Steve says, and Jack mutters, "Get the heat fixed." He dresses quickly and leaves without another word, emptiness echoing with every step.


End file.
